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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299407">i woke up and summer's gone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/almadeamla/pseuds/almadeamla'>almadeamla</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Domestic, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Homophobia, Hurt!Rick, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Rimming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:02:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/almadeamla/pseuds/almadeamla</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident at Carl's school leads Rick to re-examine his and Shane's relationship. AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rick Grimes/Shane Walsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Wyrm/gifts">Book_Wyrm</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for Book_Wyrm. Who asked me to write "Rick and Shane are married, but also it's like, sad and stuff." Future warnings for violence and a lot of porn. I'm going to try to write this in shorter chapter formats.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rick came home from work to find Carl lying on the sofa. He was on his back, a bag of frozen peas across his face, obscuring both his eyes and most of his cheek. Water dribbled down Carl’s neck, soaking his collar and the couch cushions. He mumbled a weak hello at the sound of the front door opening and shutting.</p><p>Judith, meanwhile, was in the process of decorating Carl’s arm with an entire box of Disney princess Band-Aids. She peeled back the non-stick plastic one piece at a time, her lips pursed in concentration, tiny hands moving with the precision of a surgeon. She let the wrappers fall to the floor in a growing pile and smacked a kiss onto each Band-Aid as she pressed them down.</p><p>“It’s to help him feel better, daddy,” she explained as Rick leaned over the back of the couch to inspect what exactly was happening.</p><p>He lifted the peas.</p><p>Carl’s left eye was swollen shut. The shiner was enormous, mishappen and painful looking, the size of a ripe plum, and just as purple. The skin beside Carl’s nose was red and black, swirling into the split skin above his eyelid. As careful as he could, Rick pressed his thumb lightly into the arch of Carl’s eyebrow, checking the bone underneath for fractures. Carl hissed but didn’t pull away. The resigned look of acceptance on his face, that of a martyr resigned to his suffering, told Rick he’d already undergone a similar inspection from Shane.</p><p>“What happened?” Rick asked, his voice pitched high in alarm.</p><p>“Nothing,” Carl huffed, rolling over. He pressed the bruised side of his face into the couch though it had to have hurt him. Unaware of the tension in the room, or perhaps without regard for it, Judith resumed plastering Carl with Band-Aids, this time to the exposed nape of his neck. It was going to hurt like hell to peel those ones off. </p><p>Rick frowned. Carl wasn’t the type to be secretive. He had no problem being honest when he’d gotten himself in trouble with a teacher or brought home a bad grade from school. This surliness wasn’t like him. He was still a year off from teenage hormones and the troubles that came with them.</p><p>Rick put a hand on the back of Carl’s head. “I’ll go get you some new ice. This one’s melted.”</p><p>Carl only grunted in response. He looked so fragile, younger than twelve, curled onto his side, burrowed into the back of the couch in the fetal position. It sent something in Rick’s chest to aching to see his son this way.</p><p>Rick went stomping into the kitchen. Shane was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a bottle of beer, rolling the bottle back and forth in his palms, mouth wet. A pot simmered on the stove, the air fragrant with the smell of garlic and onions. There were chopped carrots on the counter beside it, along with some leftover roast and potatoes from the night before—the beginnings of stew. Rick had been looking forward to dinner but now found he wasn’t hungry. His stomach twisted itself small and hard.</p><p>“What happened to Carl’s eye?” He asked, as he rooted through the freezer. He found a bag of frozen corn to replace the soggy peas. Judith refused to eat corn lately, would retch just at the sight if they served it, and if they didn’t use it for Carl’s eye, they would end up throwing the bag away.</p><p>Shane rolled his shoulders and stood up, bringing his beer with him. He scraped the contents of the cutting board into the stewpot. “He got into a scuffle with some kids at school. He didn’t start it. Near as I can tell—and the principal confirmed it—some little douchebag and his buddies were calling Carl names, Carl tried to get away and one of the boys clocked him. They’re suspended and have Saturday detention.” He was oddly calm, positioned away from Rick, face blank.</p><p>Rick used his free hand to turn Shane around. Shane met his eyes reluctantly, guiltily, and Rick felt stirrings of anger now mixed with disbelief. “Is there a reason you didn’t think to call me?”</p><p>Shane pressed his hand into the center of Rick’s chest. Rick felt the warmth of Shane’s palm through his uniform shirt and in any other circumstance it would have been soothing. “It was the very end of the day. They didn’t even tell me until I went to pick him up.”</p><p>“The principal should have called. It’s unaccep—”</p><p>Shane raised an eyebrow; he slid his hand up to cup Rick’s cheek. His skin smelled faintly of the garlic he’d been chopping, it made Rick’s eyes sting. “You remember how many fights we got into at his age? It ain’t that big of a deal.”</p><p>“We didn’t get into <em>fights</em>,” Rick said, indignant. He’d always been a model student. Responsible, respectful. He’d never once been sent to the principal.</p><p>Shane took a long pull from his beer, draining the last of the bottle. “<em>You</em> didn’t, maybe. I always had to step in before you got your ass kicked. I got into it with Reed Walters three times before he moved away. You don’t remember all those days you walked home alone because I was in detention?” Rick did have a vague recollection of spending some afternoons alone at home without Shane to keep him company. “Or that time with the Thompson brothers? Any of this ringing a bell?”</p><p>Rick didn’t remember them as fights. He remembered doing his part to stand up when he saw other kids being bullied. Putting himself in front of another boy in need. He’d taken a few punches, an elbow to the ribs, but it had been worth it, he’d been <em>proud </em>to do it, knowing he was standing up for the weak. </p><p>He did have a faint recollection of Shane, tinier than he had any right being, swinging his fists, nose bleeding.</p><p>Rick sighed. He pinched his forehead between his fingers. Getting upset now would get him nowhere. Shane would never understand the gravity of the situation. “I think we should meet with the principal again to talk with him about it. Get to the bottom of this now before it turns into something more.”</p><p>Shane tended to the stewpot, stirring its contents. The muscles in his back bunched and moved under the thin fabric of his shirt. “You set it up then. Talking to Principal Jackson gives me flashbacks.”</p><p>Carl had moved to his bedroom by the time Rick left the kitchen. He was on his bed, staring down at his math book miserably. The swelling in his face, worse now that the skin had warmed, stood out like a splash of paint. Carl accepted the frozen corn Rick offered him without a word and slapped it over his cheek.</p><p>Rick sat down on Carl’s bed, felt the mattress dip beneath him, mold to him. “Carl, close your book a minute. I want to talk.”</p><p>Carl kept reading. “I talked to dad already.”</p><p>“Well now you’re going to talk with me.”</p><p>With a huff and a roll of his eyes that normally would have gotten him a scolding, Carl slid his book off his lap and pulled himself up into a sitting position. </p><p>“Dad told me what happened,” Rick said. He watched Carl stiffen, his body gone rigid, braced for a reprimanding. His eyes glazed over, that far off look he always had when he was steeling himself against something unpleasant.</p><p>“He told you I punched Johnny?” Carl asked, sounding betrayed, his face falling.</p><p>Rick paused, startled. “He did not tell me that. He told me Johnny hit you.”</p><p>Carl curled his arms around himself. “He did. After.”</p><p>Rick felt his eyebrows rise into his hairline. He had been prepared for a gentle talk about schoolyard bullies, not to hear his son’s confession that he had been the one to start the fight.</p><p>“Carl, you know you can’t solve conflicts with violence. You walk away--”</p><p>“I was trying to!” Carl interrupted, dropping his bag of corn to the floor. His swollen eye, huge and distorted, was full of tears. “I was trying to get away! I just wanted them to leave me alone, I didn’t even care that they were calling me a sissy. I know I’m not but then Johnny said--”</p><p>Rick laid a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Carl there’s nothing he could say that would make what you did right. A man doesn’t use his fists, he uses reason.”</p><p>“He said I was a faggot,” Carl spat the word out like it cut his tongue. It hung between them in the air, sharp and dangerous. Rick’s stomach dropped and he had to put a hand on his chest to force himself to breathe. He felt the urge to vomit, his spit gone sour and hot in his mouth. “That having queers for dads made me queer too.”</p><p>Panic started to rise in Rick’s body. His heart fluttered against his ribcage. His pulse beat powerful against the inside of his skin.</p><p>He pulled Carl to him. He crushed Carl to his body, felt the shape of his son, his smallness. Carl was too little for this, too young to know the harshness of the world so intimately. He kissed the top of Carl’s head, smelled a faint hint of blood mixed with the smell of shampoo.</p><p>“Dad—” Carl started; frightened.</p><p>“You did nothing wrong, Carl,” Rick said into Carl’s hair. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”</p><p>Carl nodded. He sniffled audibly and Rick was worried Carl might start crying. He knew he couldn’t handle that, his son brought to tears by the cruelness of a bully. It would break whatever strength he had left in him.</p><p>Carl pulled out of the hug after a minute. His mouth was relaxed, shoulders loose. He looked relieved.</p><p>“Go wash up for dinner, dad’ll be calling us down soon.”</p><p>Carl got up without protesting. Rick watched him walk down the hallway toward the bathroom, swallowed up in the early evening shadows. As Rick watched him peel the corn off his eye, face scrunched in pain, he knew he would have to do something. A man’s responsibility was to his family. Carl’s wellbeing depended on Rick acting. He wouldn’t let him down.</p><p>***</p><p>The steady beat of Shane’s heart monitor eased Rick to sleep like a lullaby. He fought the pull of his eyelids drifting shut, but his head was lighter than air, and his body was numb—weightless. The pain pills the nurses had given him dulled all sensation completely. He couldn’t feel the pain of his injuries or the stiff hospital chair he’d eased himself into waiting for Shane to wake up from surgery.</p><p>He was numb. Nothing could hurt him.</p><p>The warmth of a hand on his shoulder jerked Rick out of his thin sleep. He yelped, arching away from the contact, as hot sparks of pain went off in his chest like firecrackers. He kept himself still, sweating as the ache in his ribs slowly subsided, breathing hard through his clenched teeth.</p><p>“Hey,” he heard Shane whisper.</p><p>Rick deflated and the panic he’d been nursing since the orderlies first wheeled Shane in, pale everywhere he wasn’t bruised, unnaturally motionless, flowed out of him.</p><p>“Hey,” he answered. He tried to smile but found he couldn’t. His throat went too tight to swallow and he bent his head to hide how his eyes watered. He pressed his forehead against the end of Shane’s bed, ignoring how much the position hurt his broken ribs.</p><p>Shane’s hand was on him again, his head this time, fingers combing through his hair gently, sliding down to squeeze the back of his neck. “It’s alright,” Shane said, hoarse from the tube Rick had watched them put down his throat in the ambulance. “You’re alright.”</p><p>Rick said nothing. He couldn’t. He’d weep in earnest if he tried. It was hard enough to live with the memories: the taste of blood in his mouth, the snap of bone, the acrid smell of booze and urine. He trembled and drew fast, uneasy breaths.</p><p>“You’re alright,” Shane said again and the soft, tender note to his voice broke the dam of emotion in Rick’s throat. Tears sprung from his eyes with the strength of a geyser. He panted, each sob wracking his body with searing tremors. It was almost too much to stand. The nightmare and the catharsis of having lived through it, for Shane to be here alive beside him, was his greatest wish. He was content to lie here, close as he could get to the broken mess made of Shane’s body, Shane’s thumb rubbing tiny circles into his neck as Rick tried to put himself back together.</p><p>His cries faded. He was back to oblivion, the gentle calm of exhaustion. It had been so long he thought Shane must have fallen back to sleep. Rick sat up slow, trying his best not to jostle the bed. But Shane was awake, though it was hard to tell. His eyes were black slits through all the bruising in his face, barely open. His nose was grotesque, puffy, the bridge flattened, and despite the little pieces of tape and cardboard they were using to try and straighten it, Rick doubted it was ever going to look the same.</p><p>Rick wanted to touch him. To smooth the worst of the damage away, to knead the hurt out of Shane’s bruises, feel the rush of his blood beneath his skin. Shane looked so delicate, a word he never would have associated with Shane before. Shane who had always seemed indestructible, forged from stone and muscle, hard like the high granite peak of a mountain, able to weather any storm.</p><p>He settled for taking Shane’s uninjured hand in his. Shane’s right hand—broken in four different places—was cradled against his chest in a sling.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Rick asked.</p><p>“How am I feeling?” Shane repeated, tone incredulous. “How are <em>you</em>? I seen guys come out of six rounds in the ring looking better than you.”</p><p>Rick tapped his broken cheekbone. “Believe it or not, the doctor said the fracture is minor. Should be all healed up in a couple of weeks.”</p><p>Though it was tough to read Shane’s expression, his features deformed from the swelling, he seemed unimpressed.</p><p>Rick knew he himself was a sight. The deep purple in his cheek, the stitches in his split lip and chin. Most of the damage was to his torso and back—three broken ribs, huge bruises. He’d curled in on himself in the end. The soft flesh of his back protecting his vital organs from the worst of the blows.</p><p>“You sure he got a medical license? You look like shit.”</p><p>Rick squeezed Shane’s hand gently. “Wait ‘til you get a look at yourself in the mirror. I’m the handsome one now.”</p><p>Shane lay his head back against his pillow, eyes closed. He asked, after a moment of silence, “how bad?”</p><p>Rick tried to recall the snatches of conversation he’d eavesdropped from the nurses. “They put two pins in your arm and a plate in your collarbone. Set the bones in your hand. Scanned you for brain damage. Didn’t find any—not enough brain.”</p><p>Shane snorted, then winced when the vibration made his broken bones grind together. “And my nose?”</p><p>“They mentioned getting you a consultation with a plastic surgeon.”</p><p>“Ooof,” Shane said. “Maybe he can take some of the cartilage out of my ears and put it in my nose. Even things out a little, you know?”</p><p>Rick laughed, and the laughter set him to coughing, and the coughing had him tightening every muscle in his body, trembling with the effort to stay still. His busted ribs screamed at him and his nerves shrieked, set aflame.</p><p>When he could move again, Rick took a sip from the cup of water beside Shane’s bed. Then he offered Shane a drink.</p><p>Shane allowed Rick to bring the straw to his lips. He swallowed with some difficulty.</p><p>“Feels like I deepthroated a chainsaw.”</p><p>Rick set the cup down on the nightstand, satisfied Shane had gotten enough to drink. “They had to put a tube,” Rick gestured to his neck, opened his own mouth wide as an example, “so you could breathe.”</p><p>Shane shut his eyes. Rick could see the tiredness come over him in a wave. The tone went out of his muscles, his breathing went long and deep.</p><p>“My dad brought over some of our things.” Rick stiffly reached down to the bag at his feet. “A change of clothes. Some books.” All of the novels were Rick’s, his old detective stories he’d brought with him to fill the bookshelf Shane made in shop class their senior year. His dad had thought to grab the blanket from the couch, the butter yellow yarn thing Shane’s grandma Jean had knitted before he was born. He tucked it around Shane from his chin to the bottoms of his feet. Shane looked better like that, more cheerful—sweet. “He talked to the landlord too.”</p><p>Shane groaned. “Christ. He tell him rent’s gonna be late this month? I don’t think I can do much construction with my arm in a sling.” Shane said, considering. There was sadness in his voice, a grim inflection of defeat. “You think my mom kept my room the same?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about that now.” That was Rick’s burden. He’d bear it for the both of them. They’d make the most of it, they’d lived their precious months of freedom and suffered the consequences. “We’ll come up with something,” he insisted. “Winter semester is in two months. We’ll be back to normal by then. We can take classes at the community college and get real jobs. Then we’ll be able to afford a nicer place, one without those awful patches in the wall.” New drywall, the landlord had told them, but Rick had suspected hasty patch jobs of holes made by the previous tenant. Shane had confirmed as much trying to find a stud to hang a shelf when his entire fist had gone through a crumbling piece of plaster.</p><p>Shane frowned. Or, he tried to. “Don’t think I’m much cut out for college, man.”</p><p>“It’s just two years. You can do it.”</p><p>Shane sighed, the way he always did before he fell asleep. “Got my major all picked out for me?”</p><p>Rick kissed the back of his hand, quick, brushing his tender lip over the swollen skin of Shane’s knuckles. “Get some rest. We can talk more about it in the morning.”</p><p>***</p><p>Rick fought back bouts of nausea. His stomach was leaden, his blood too dense. He felt like he would sink to the floor if not for his own inertia, the sheer strength of his bones pulling him into motion.</p><p>He watched Judith dance in the front hallway. She wore one of the gossamer skirts his mother had made her, a pale pink tutu that fluttered as she twirled. Sun from the front window illuminated the fabric, made it seem dreamy, spun like cotton candy, and Judith’s dark curls bounced in contrast. She was made of light and shadows, spinning endlessly, red mouth open as she laughed. Rick almost couldn’t look at her, it was too much to love this tiny, gorgeous person. To know that he was half the reason she’d come spitting mad into this world.</p><p>Shane appeared suddenly; his dark hair wild. He had two sets of matching cleats dangling from his hand by the laces—one adult sized and one miniature. He hastily slung Judith’s glittery purple backpack over his shoulder.</p><p>“Judith,” Shane said, body braced for a fight, “you can’t wear a tutu to soccer practice.”</p><p>Judith kept on spinning. “You can if you’re a princess.”</p><p>Shane looked over to Rick, eyebrow cocked, <em>you believe this shit?</em></p><p>Rick shrugged, helpless. He didn’t know any better what might convince her. Why Shane had decided to coach Judith’s pee-wee soccer team eluded him.</p><p>“Yeah, okay. But <em>princesses </em>ain’t late to practice so you need to get your butt in the car.” Without another word Shane scooped Judith up under one arm and carried her, kicking and squealing with delight, out the front door.</p><p>Rick stood in the doorway. Shane dropped Judith into the Jeep through the opening where the roof should be. She shrieked, reaching her fingers up toward the turquoise sky. She loved to ride with the breeze in her face, the sun in her hair. She and Shane were the same that way, creatures of chaos, windswept and restless. Rick waved as they pulled out of the driveway and listened as the pounding bass of the rock music Shane and Judith were partial to drifted away.</p><p>He shut the door and let out a shivery breath. It was now or never. He’d carefully planned for this. He’d spent the last two days preparing in increments.</p><p>“Here Carl,” Rick said, moving fast before he lost his courage. He grabbed the suitcases they kept in the hall closet. His were already packed. “Carl!” He called out.</p><p>“What?” Carl lifted his head up over the back of the couch. The tv screen, paused with some brightly colored graphic on it, lit his face pale green. “Are we going somewhere?” He asked, eying the duffel bag in Rick’s hands.</p><p>“Pack some things.” Rick said, tossing him the bag. “Just the essentials. I’ll get the rest later; we’re going to your grandmother’s.”</p><p>Carl’s eyes widened. “Is she sick?”</p><p>Rick couldn’t meet Carl’s eyes. He turned to the television instead. “Pack your stuff, Carl. Whatever you need for school, enough clothes for the week. Your Xbox.”</p><p>Carl dropped the bag to the floor. He crossed his arms. “Why? If something’s wrong with Grandma you have to tell me.”</p><p>Rick switched off the television and unplugged Carl’s gaming equipment. “She’s fine, I promise. Now do what I asked you.” He said it sharper than he intended. Harsh enough Carl snatched up the duffel and retreated up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door behind him and Rick heard the noise of him throwing around some of this things.</p><p>Carl emerged a few minutes later with the duffel and his backpack. Neither looked full enough to have everything he needed, but Rick didn’t have the time or energy to fight him on it. They only had an hour. Less than that now.</p><p>“Are we having dinner with Grandma?” Carl was just trying to make sense of things. Throwing out whatever explanations he could think of, begging Rick to confirm anything and free him from the uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty. The swelling in his face had gone down enough for Rick to clearly read his concerned expression. “Dad said he was gonna bring back pizza.”</p><p>Rick picked up his own bags. “Just get in the car. I’ll explain on the way.”</p><p>Carl’s eyes were wet. They shone, frantic. “No!” He backed up toward the stairs, ready to retreat. “I’m not going to go without Dad and Judith.”</p><p>Their window was narrowing. Rick snatched the duffel bag from Carl and added its weight to his own load. “I am your father; you will do as I say. Get in the car. <em>Now</em>.” The words were foreign in his mouth, he’d never been the raw disciplinarian. But he found the ferocity somewhere inside him.</p><p>Carl looked ready to cry, or worse, to throw a tantrum, but he did as he was told. He slammed the car door hard enough Rick was worried he’d broken something. Rick followed, loading their bags into the trunk. He couldn’t bring himself take one last look at the house, too scared what wells of misery it might bring up in him. He threw the car into drive and headed in the direction of the sinking sun.</p><p>Despite his promise, he said nothing on the drive. Carl didn’t pester him the way he normally would have—no demands for information. He pressed his face against the glass of the window, mouth twisted in an expression so ugly Rick refused to look in the rearview mirror for fear it would be directed his way.</p><p>His mother met them on the front porch. Her hair silvered in the sunset. “Oh my boys,” she crooned, opening her arms. She pulled Carl close to her chest, combing his hair with her fingers. “It’ll be so nice to have you two home.” She kissed both of Carl’s cheeks, clucking at the bruise around his eye, leading him inside the house with promises of sweets. “You can take your daddy’s old room. It’s just how he left it.”</p><p>Rick’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He felt the vibrations move down his leg, like they were trying to compel him forward, back toward the car, toward home. Toward Shane.  One buzz—a text message—<strong>where are you?</strong>—most likely. A casual question. Shane asking if they’d be back soon for dinner. Judith wouldn’t be able to wait long, not able to resist the temptation of a hot pizza. Shane would let her eat, even if he didn’t. But he would eat, eventually. He’d have to.</p><p>Rick held the phone in his hand without checking it. The heat of the battery warmed his palm, hot from being against his body. He heard his mother calling for him, to bring his bags, to come sit down at the table, dinner was waiting.</p><p>He shut off his phone and headed inside, into the brightly lit parlor, into his and Carl’s new home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rick carried the last of the boxes up the front steps, hands stinging from the cold, hair damp with rain. The setting sun cast the new house orange, lengthened the shadows, made the big ash tree in the front yard seem smaller, its gnarled branches stripped of leaves. He took a moment to look at it all, the muddy patches of flooded grass, the tree perfect for a tire swing, and bare patches of dirt where there had once been flower beds.</p>
<p>Pride gripped him stronger than the chill of the wind. This was his land now—theirs—to tend and grow.</p>
<p>Inside smelled of paint and wood, a scent like the first rain after an Indian summer—rich and earthy. Rick set down the box and shook himself off, shedding water. He dropped his coat to the floor.</p>
<p>“You always do that shit,” Shane said, sighing. He appeared out of the hallway carrying a box on each shoulder. “I got enough to fix around here without worrying about you warping the wood.” Setting the boxes down, Shane picked up Rick’s wet raincoat and hung it on the front doorknob. “Guess we shoulda taken your mom up on that coat rack.”</p>
<p>“You said it was ugly.”</p>
<p>“It <em>is</em> ugly but I’m willing to admit it’s pragmatic.”</p>
<p>“Practical,” Rick said, distantly, stacking the box he’d brought in neatly beside the stairs.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that too,” Shane said, collapsing dramatically onto the sofa. He closed his eyes, the back of his wrist tipped against his forehead, the pose reminiscent of a fainting saloon girl in a western movie.</p>
<p>Rick flopped down on top of Shane, warmer now that he had the heat of Shane’s body to curl into. Shane’s hand came to rest in the middle of his back. The sound of Shane’s heart filled his ear, strong and steady. Rick felt himself start to fall asleep.</p>
<p>“I’m beat,” Shane mumbled, shifting beneath him.</p>
<p>Rick grunted in agreement.</p>
<p>“You want Chinese for dinner?”</p>
<p>Another grunt. Shane’s chest rumbled underneath Rick’s cheek in laughter.</p>
<p>“I’ll go pick it up.” Shane nudged Rick up and off him. Rick sat up, bones creaking worse than cold wood in winter. He blinked away the thin pull of sleep and watched Shane tug on Rick’s yellow rain slicker before heading out the door.</p>
<p>Attempting to be productive, he had the vague intention of organizing but found the task too demanding. He didn’t know where to start.</p>
<p>He settled for just lining boxes against the wall, out of the way for the moment, lighting candles and the fireplace. The living room looked homier that way, the hardwood floors glowing in the soft orange firelight. They’d have the utilities turned on tomorrow.</p>
<p>When Shane returned, carrying two huge white plastic bags of food, they ate out of the cartons. The forks were in a box somewhere along with the dishes and neither of them felt up for looking, so Rick resigned himself to fumbling with chopsticks. He used them as spears, stabbing into his Kung Pao chicken. Shane, busy shoveling noodles into his mouth as fast as possible, didn’t even tease him for it.</p>
<p>“Saw Mr. Redmond at Jade Garden.” Shane had gotten dumplings and he popped one in his mouth, whole.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Rick dug through the cartons on the table looking for the steamed rice. Shane had gotten a smorgasbord: noodles, chicken, dumplings, beef, two kinds of vegetables, more than Rick could eat in two days. Shane would probably finish most of it off before the end of the night.</p>
<p>Shane swallowed. “Yeah. Said he has a shipment of lumber someone returned. It was special ordered so he can’t do much with it. Said we could have it half price.”</p>
<p>“You want to add onto the house already?”</p>
<p>Shane shook his head, cheeks stuffed round with broccoli. Rick had to wait for him to chew. “Thought I’d use it to make us some furniture. Coat rack. Coffee table. Chest of drawers for one of the guest bedrooms, maybe.”</p>
<p>Rick pictured that. Shane bent over a work bench. Sawdust in his hair. The acrid smell of lacquer and varnish. Things in their home Shane had made with his own two hands, poured a part of himself into. They could set up a work space in the garage, finally put to use the tools Rick’s dad had gotten him.</p>
<p>“I’ll ask my dad if we can borrow his truck tomorrow to haul it here,” Rick said, smiling.</p>
<p>He leaned close to put his arm around Shane. It wasn’t so cold they could see their breath, but an evening frost was settling, and being on the floor didn’t help. Shane was warm, hotter than the fire just coming to life in the fireplace, spreading tendrils of heat.</p>
<p>Shane smelled like soy sauce. Tasted like it, too, with a little orange sweetness when Rick kissed him. He felt Shane smile, the shape of his mouth changed, opened to welcome Rick in. That was all Rick wanted, to be inside Shane’s body, loved by him completely. For Shane to never leave.</p>
<p>They kissed awhile, listening to the fire crackling. Rick’s blood was honey, slow and sweet. Rick tugged Shane toward their mattress, laid out on the floor in front of the fireplace.</p>
<p>“Gee.” Shane grinned. “It’s a good thing I didn’t put the bed frame together yet, we don’t even have to go upstairs.”</p>
<p>Shane laid back with a little urging. There was a dreamy quality to him, his skin golden in the firelight, the white sheets beneath him. He reminded Rick of a picture he’d had in his bedroom as a young child of the archangel Michael on a cloud in the turquoise sky.</p>
<p>Rick pulled a quilt over them. Made it cozy, a little nest for them to retreat into, a place no cold could touch them. They shed their clothes inside their cocoon of blankets. Shane’s seemed to melt off him, gone in an instant, and it made Rick feel clumsy as he had to stop and tug his shirt up over his head.</p>
<p>“There you go,” Shane said when Rick finally freed himself. He ran his hands up Rick’s sides, gentle as his warm fingertips traced Rick’s ribs. Rick had no scars, not on his body, save for a faint white line on the underside of his lip where there’d once been the beginning of a stitch.</p>
<p>Rick didn’t want to think about that. He put his mouth to Shane’s chest. Tasted the salt of his skin. Shane hummed, hand on the back of Rick’s head, just guiding, not pushing, letting Rick choose the path he took. He kissed over Shane’s heartbeat, the jut of the steel plate under the scar on his collarbone, flicked his tongue across each of Shane’s nipples, used his lips to map the muscles of Shane’s stomach. He dipped his tongue into Shane’s belly button and laughed when Shane started squirming. He moved back up Shane’s body, used his own to cover Shane completely, let Shane feel how hard he was—how much he wanted him. He ground down gently, getting between Shane’s legs, where he wanted to be.</p>
<p>Shane kissed his mouth. His cheek. “Let me suck you,” he said. Rick must have looked disappointed, because Shane continued, “we don’t have any lube, it’s in one of my bags somewhere. Might even still be in the car.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Rick said, his face heating. Cheeks red as the fire. “I’ll, uh, get you wet.”</p>
<p>Rick had never. But he’d seen it before, once, in one of those dirty movies. Back when he and Shane were just out of high school. His cousin had showed him on a grainy VHS. Rick had barely been able to look, he’d been too hot with embarrassment and shame.</p>
<p>He wriggled down until he was between Shane’s legs. Shane’s thighs, so smooth and solid, bracketed his head. He wanted to lick them. To bite them. He wanted to leave the imprint of his teeth in Shane’s flesh. Mark Shane up in his own way.</p>
<p>“Sorry if I’m not good at this,” Rick said, an apology and a warning. He dipped his head low to his favorite part of Shane. One of them, anyway. He liked it, this tiny space where Shane was vulnerable, that he only let Rick near.</p>
<p>He licked. Shane’s thighs tightened until they held Rick’s head in place by his ears. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Shane shivered, “Jesus. Warn a guy.”</p>
<p>“Tried to,” Rick murmured. He licked again. Not harder, but firmer. Feeling. He wanted to know all the secrets of Shane’s body.</p>
<p>He lost himself in the intimacy of the moment. Shane relaxed against his mouth, legs falling open. One of Shane’s hands gripped his hair, held him there. Rick worked Shane with his tongue, his lips, spit on his chin, feeling every minute movement of Shane’s muscles. Shane was hot, hotter than the fire at their backs, hot like a sun Rick was desperately orbiting.</p>
<p>Shane bucked, moaning, when Rick eased the tip of his finger in alongside his mouth. He had to stop, for air, for his own safety, Shane was clenching his thighs tight enough Rick was honestly worried about choking.</p>
<p>“Relax,” he whispered, biting the meat of Shane’s inner thigh as a warning.</p>
<p>“Just do me.” Shane’s voice was strained. He was close to coming, Rick noticed. He felt the minute trembling in Shane’s legs. “I’m gonna come in your hair if you don’t.”</p>
<p>Rick choked, somehow disgusted and aroused by the image. “Romantic,” he said, wiping excess spit from his chin with his fingers.</p>
<p>“Yeah that’s me,” Shane shimmied lower, slick and open when Rick pressed his fingers into him. Rick’s cock ached to feel it.</p>
<p>Shane’s fingers, wet too, joined Rick’s. “C’mon.” Shane urged him on, wrapping a leg around his waist. He held himself open. Rick moved himself into place, just the head of his dick slipping in. “<em>Do</em> it,” Shane growled, urging Rick onward.</p>
<p>Rick had to close his eyes. It was too much to see. He couldn’t take the volcanic glass gleam of Shane’s dark eyes in the firelight. The pink of his lips and cheeks. Rick was burning up. He was Icarus, seared and falling, consumed by sun.</p>
<p>Every thrust of Rick’s hips left him shaking. Making love had never felt so good. There was something about being here, in their forever home, Shane wrapped around him. It was paradise. There was nothing more he could wish for, just Shane and his kiss swollen mouth—Rick’s forever.</p>
<p>Someone was gasping, ragged, “yes yes yes,” over and over. Rick realized it was him. He opened his eyes and there was Shane, smiling fondly up at him. Shane’s hands came up to cradle either side of his head. Rick couldn’t stand it any longer. He came, he gave into the pull of Shane’s body, gave Shane everything he had to offer. His arms weakened beneath him and he fell, unafraid, knowing Shane was there to catch him.</p>
<p>They lay there together. Breathing. Until Rick could pull out and roll himself over. He was floating and he never wanted to come back. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Shane, hunched back over his carton of dumplings, grinning sheepishly as he was caught.</p>
<p>Rick watched Shane eat, naked and disheveled, until he drifted to sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick stood in his father’s old study, feeling like a stranger. His mother had moved out the old oak desk, put a twin mattress in its place. Space for Rick to press himself into now that he’d left everything behind him. He wondered if this emptiness was what homesteaders had felt when they’d left their family, their homes, and made the move out west. They’d been on the move toward something greater—their destinies, an adventure—but it must have hurt in the moment, raw, a wound that they worried would never heal.</p>
<p>Rick hadn’t thought to bring much with him. Enough clothes for a week, his favorite paperbacks, duty weapon. He could fit his possessions into a single drawer. He put the Python onto the top shelf in the closet still in its holster and he caught a faint whiff of his father’s aftershave hanging there among the clothes. The smell made his eyes water. He couldn’t breathe, chest gone tighter than when his ribs had been broken. He spun on his heel and went out into the hallway for air.</p>
<p>He tried the door to his childhood bedroom. It was locked.</p>
<p>“Carl,” he called out, relieved his voice was normal. “We should be heading downstairs for dinner.” He waited for Carl to reply. For the sound of shuffling, the click of the door being unlocked. All he heard was silence. “Carl,” he said again, softer. “Please.”</p>
<p>Footsteps. The rattle of the doorknob turning. Carl emerged, eyes red, mouth wrinkled in anger. He walked past Rick without a word, stomped his way down the stairs, and sat at the far opposite end of the table.</p>
<p>Any other day and Rick would have scolded Carl for the surliness. For not washing up. Tonight he allowed Carl his act of civil disobedience.</p>
<p>Dinner was as good as Rick remembered. Blackened pork chops, mashed potatoes, collard greens. His favorite—his mother had gone out of her way —and Rick tried to eat to show he was grateful. The potatoes were rich, heavy with cream and butter, whipped to perfection, but they stuck to his throat like glue when he tried to swallow. Still, he did his best.</p>
<p>Carl pushed his food around with his fork. He left the majority of his potatoes and greens uneaten. He managed just a few bites of his porkchop before he pushed his plate forward and asked to be excused. Another behavior that never would have been acceptable in their old lives. <em>You eat your veggies now or you’re having them for breakfast</em> Shane would say. Rick could see it clearly, Shane folding greens into an omelet, much to Carl’s dismay.</p>
<p>“Not yet, Peanut,” Rick’s mother said. She went to into the kitchen and returned with a thick frosted hummingbird cake. “I made this special for you.”</p>
<p>Carl mumbled a lack luster thank you. He watched his grandmother serve him a slice of cake, frowning. He said thank you again and took a bite. Rick could see the inside of the cake gleam with moisture—ribbons of mashed banana and pineapple, big chunks of pecans.</p>
<p>His mother smiled fondly. “You’ve no idea what a blessing it is to be able to cook for my two favorite men every night.”</p>
<p>Carl ate another forkful of cake. Morose. He didn’t seem to be tasting it.</p>
<p>“Oh, Richard,” his mother had her back turned to the table. She had her day planner open. “I forgot I volunteered to make sandwiches for the church luncheon tomorrow. What time does Carl start school?”</p>
<p>Rick placed his napkin across his plate. Full. Sitting at the table was beginning to feel overwhelming. The empty chairs haunting. He wanted to retreat to the safety of the parlor.</p>
<p>“School starts at 8:15, he doesn’t have to be there until 8:05. I’ll need to leave the house by 7:45.”</p>
<p>“Perfect! That gives us plenty of time for a nice big family breakfast. Maybe waffles? What do you think Peanut?”</p>
<p>Carl gripped his fork so hard in his hand his knuckles went white. “I want my dad to take me to school.”</p>
<p>“Your daddy just said he has to work, Peanut.”</p>
<p>Carl’s face went empty of all expression. Cold. “No, my other dad. He always takes me and Judith to school.”</p>
<p>Rick struggled to think of what to say in response. His mother seemed to have a similar reaction. Her blue eyes widened for a second before she smiled and reached over to brush Carl’s hair away from his forehead. “Let me get you some ice cream to go with that cake,” she said, leaving Rick and Carl alone.</p>
<p>Rick sighed. He had hoped they could at least go one night without an argument. But he could see Carl wasn’t going to accept things quietly. “Carl, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Your grandmother is just trying to make things normal for you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not mad at <em>Nana</em>,” Carl snarled. His blue eyes were shards of glass—piercing.</p>
<p>Rick’s chest ached. It hurt to see the full force of Carl’s fury leveled at him, but he knew from experience that no change worth doing was easy. Carl would adjust. They both would.</p>
<p>“This won’t be forever. Soon we’ll be able to get our own place, one with a room for you and Judith. You’ll have your own space, and we can move in all of your things. It’ll feel just like ho—”</p>
<p>Carl slammed his fists onto the table hard enough the silverware rattled. His glass, still full of milk, tipped over and spilled across the blue tablecloth. He gripped the delicate lace in both hands. “I already <em>have</em> a home! Just because you don’t want to live there anymore doesn’t mean I don’t!”</p>
<p>Without another world Carl shoved his chair back and retreated upstairs. Rick sat alone at the table, milk stain slowly spreading, cake abandoned.</p>
<p>He dabbed at the spill with his napkin. He would speak to Carl soon. He’d give him some time to calm down. Before bed, that’s when Carl was most pliant. Rick would go to him then.</p>
<p>“Richard, what happened?” Rick felt his mother’s warm hands cupping his. “Oh,” she said, lifting the sodden napkin away, “honey you’re bleeding.”</p>
<p>Rick dimly registered a sting in his palm. Carl’s glass had broken, he realized, cracked into pieces. He’d rubbed his hand into one and not even noticed. The tablecloth was a real mess now, darkened with milk, splotched with blood, purpled where the colors had mixed and run.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, reaching for another napkin. He had to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, oddly breathless. His voice sounded winded, like he’d just run a marathon, legs unsteady.</p>
<p>“Shh, shh,” his mother put pressure on his hand to stop the bleeding. She extended his arm up above his head for him. Her free hand cupped his face. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Not a thing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You sure you don’t want some help with that?” Shane asked from the doorway, Carl bundled in his arms.</p>
<p>Rick shook his head, glancing back up at the instructions he’d taped to the wall. His sweat soaked shirt stuck to his back in several places. He felt more out of place than the pieces of wood scattered on the floor. “I know how to put a crib together.”</p>
<p>Shane flicked his gaze from the floor to Rick’s flushed face. “Seems debatable.”</p>
<p>“I’m close.” He was. He had to be. He’d already figured out there weren’t supposed to be extra screws.</p>
<p>“You been at it all day. At least let me—”</p>
<p>“No,” it came out louder than he meant. Loud enough to startle Carl into waking. He wriggled and made small, disgruntled noises. Shane immediately bounced him, made shushing noises. “Sorry. I just…he’s my son, Shane. I want to do it.”</p>
<p>Shane rolled his eyes. “I’ll go put <em>your</em> son down for a nap then. In our bed. Since his is still under construction. Try to get the crib finished before he goes off to college.”</p>
<p>Several hours later, Rick crept into the bedroom. Exhausted. Victorious. Carl was on his back on their bed, awake, Shane sprawled beside him. Both Carl and Shane turned to look at him—unimpressed. “All done?” Shane asked. The flat tone of his voice made it clear to Rick that he was in trouble. That Shane had no sweetness left for him today.</p>
<p>Rick got into bed without a word. He took Carl into his arms. Carl made a little squeak of protest, angry at being moved so close to his feeding time.</p>
<p>Rick couldn’t believe the day had come. It hadn’t felt real until now. Not the ultrasound appointments, listening to Carl’s heartbeat at the doctor’s office. Not feeling Carl move through the drum tight skin of Lori’s stomach. Pregnancy was abstract. It was the idea of a baby, an uncertain promise.</p>
<p>Carl blinked. The action seemed to surprise him. His mouth curled in shock and frustration. Rick was floored just looking back at him. This was his son, he’d made Carl, this was his flesh and blood, a piece of himself borne into being. Carl squeaked, yawning, nuzzling into Rick’s arm, mouth open and seeking.</p>
<p>“He’s….sucking on my arm,” Rick said in horror at the feeling of Carl’s wet, hot tongue sliding against his skin.</p>
<p>“Poor kid,” Shane cooed, grabbing a bottle off the nightstand. He nudged the nipple between Carl’s lips and watched as he started sucking, making sure he didn’t choke. “Guess that lady on TV was right, having two dads <em>will</em> confuse him. Doesn’t even know milk’s supposed to come from boobs.”</p>
<p>Rick couldn’t take his eyes off Carl. He was fascinated, the pull of his mouth, the soft little sounds he made as he swallowed, his blue eyes huge and unfocused. He was too perfect. The whole moment was too perfect, it was something out of a fairy tale Rick would have never believed could be real. He never would have thought he and Shane could be here, a beautiful baby bundled between them.</p>
<p>Carl ate slowly. Taking his time. It was a long time before he had drained his bottle and burped, eyes drooping. A line of milk drooled down his cheek. Rick dabbed it away with the corner of Carl’s bib. The warmth of emotion in his body almost choked him. He hadn’t known love could feel this way, like his heart was too fat for his body, threatening to beat its way free.</p>
<p>Shane yawned. “Go put him in his crib. Let’s get some sleep before he’s up to eat again in three hours.”</p>
<p>Rick stared out the doorway into the darkened hall. “His room’s so far away.”</p>
<p>“It’s two doors down.” Shane said, his eyes closed. “Besides, that’s why we got that fancy baby monitor. He could be a mile away and we’d still hear him.”</p>
<p>Rick felt Carl sag deeper into sleep. His tiny body went limp, boneless, nuzzling further into Rick’s arms. “But he’ll be alone in there.” He couldn’t bare the thought of leaving Carl on his own. Not his first night in the world.</p>
<p>Shane was half asleep. Rick could tell from the slowing of his breaths. “Keep him in there then,” Shane said.</p>
<p>Rick relaxed. One night, that was all. Then Carl would sleep in the crib his father had built for him. In the room Rick and Shane had painted together and spent the last three months planning.</p>
<p>“What if I roll over on him?” Rick asked, jolting upright. He had a horrible flashback to their first month out of the police academy. The new mother, exhausted from her baby’s weeks of colic, had taken a sleeping pill before bed. She’d rolled over on her little girl in her sleep and not woken up until morning. He and Shane had gotten there after the ambulance, when the body had already been taken away. But they’d had to take a statement from the hysterical mother. They’d seen the abandoned onesie the paramedics had cut off her to better administer chest compressions.</p>
<p>“That’s why you put him in the crib.”</p>
<p>“<em>Shane</em>,” Rick pleaded. He trusted Shane to hold Carl. Shane was the strongest person he knew, indestructible.</p>
<p>Shane sighed, too tired to argue. He allowed Rick to settle Carl on his chest. Carl tucked himself against Shane like he belonged there; his tiny hands flexed open on either side of his head. Rick scooted closer to kiss him, the fuzz of Carl’s dark hair tickling his lips. Carl had that baby smell, shampoo and lotion, a milky sweetness.</p>
<p>“Don’t fall asleep,” Rick said, feeling himself drifting. “Gotta make sure he’s breathing.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” he heard Shane whisper. “I’ll watch him. Get some sleep.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment! I know there are lots of questions, and I promise, things will be revealed eventually.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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